From a miniature in the possession of his daughter, Mrs. Martin
]
New York, April 27, 1806.
My Dear Mother:
Before you receive this my Father will be with you. He says I need not
fear any thing, that I am in a very fair way of doing well; he will
tell you all the particulars better than I could write. He got quite
homesick, we could not prevail on him to lengthen his visit or go to
the Springs and return here. I promised to let you hear from me once a
week how I got along. For the last 3 days I have been finely, for me;
the fore part of the day I am often very faint—all the forenoon, but
generally better towards evening. ’Tis a great comfort to me to have
Miranda with me, as I am a great part of the time unfit for anything.
My head has been much more clear and comfortable for the last few days
than for some time past. Tell Father there was a meeting called last
evening of the Federalists in the city, to make some further
remonstrances on the defenceless state of the Port of New York,
occasioned by an accident that has set the whole City in an uproar.
There are 3 British Frigates at the Hook, a few miles from the City,
that fire upon all the vessels that come in or go out, and search
them. They have sent several on to Halifax, and yesterday they fired
in a most wanton manner upon a little coaster that was entering the
harbor with only three men on board, and before they had time to come
to as they were preparing to do, they fired again, and killed one of
the men dead upon the spot,—he was brought up and the body exposed to
view on one of the wharves, where several thousand people were
collected to see it,—it put the City in great confusion, and this
meeting was called in consequence—where Uncle made a very elegant
speech. I am very sorry Father had not been here, it would have
gratified him. ’Tis the first time he has spoken in public since his
return to this Country. The British Consul had sent several boats of
provisions down to the frigates—which as soon as ’twas known the
Pilot-boats went after and brought them all back,—they were loaded
upon carts and carried in procession thro’ the streets to the poor
house, attended by a prodigious mob—huzzaing, and the English and
American colors fixed on the carts; they demanded the Commander of the
frigate to be given up as a murderer by the British Consul,—he replied
he had no power over him. It has made a prodigious noise in the City,
as you may imagine. So much for Father;—I shall expect to hear
to-morrow when he got to Providence. Adieu, my dear Mother.
Ever your affectionate E. S. BOWNE.
May 18.
By way of punishment, if it is any, I have denied myself the pleasure
of answering your letter till I thought you would begin really to wish
for a letter. However, I quite want to hear again, and as there is
little hope of that until I answer yours, I’ll e’en set about it at
once. William Weeks told me he saw you in Portland the day before he
left there. I wonder he did not tell you he was coming to New York.
Mr. Isaac McLellan is here too from Portland. You did not write to me
half particulars; you said nothing about Arixene.
Sunday, May 25, 1806.
After a week has elapsed I resume my pen to finish my letter. I was
expecting Mr. Isaac McLellan to call and let me know when he should
return, as I intended writing by him, but he has left town without my
knowing it. Now for news, which I suppose you are very anxious to
hear. In the first place—Miss Laurelia Dashaway is married to Mr.
Hawkes. On Saturday morning, 8 o’clock, Trinity Church was opened on
purpose for the occasion; something singular, as it would not be like
Miss Laurelia. But what do you think—Mr. Grellet has taken French
leave of New York—sailed for France about a fortnight ago, without
anybody’s knowing their intention till they were gone. There are many
conjectures upon the occasion not very favorable to the state of their
finances. ’Tis said his friends were very averse to her going with
him. If she had not, I suspect she must have sympathized with Madame
Jerome Buonoparte and many other poor Madames that have founded their
hopes on the fidelity of a Frenchman. Poor Mrs. Ogden has another
little petticoated little John Murray—4 daughters!—I am sorry it was
not a boy. What should you think to see me come home without Mr.
Bowne? I strongly fear he won’t have it in his power to leave the
office more than once in the Season; if so, I would much prefer him to
come for me in the Autumn. However, we have made no arrangements yet.
Walter grows such a playful little rogue, he is always in mischief; I
am just leaving off his caps; I want his hair to grow before his
Grandmamma sees him; he won’t look so pretty without his caps. He
creeps so much I find it impossible to keep him so nice as I used to.
Poor Harriet Beam I think is going rapidly in a decline, she has been
confined to her room 5 or 6 weeks. I have not seen the Wattses this
some time; they are gone to Passaic Falls with a little party,—Maria
Laight, Mr. Delort, Robert Harney, etc. My love to all; write me soon
particularly. I hope soon to be with you. How is Sister Boyd’s infant?
Yours ever, E. S. BOWNE.
Miss Miranda Southgate.
New York, Nov. 8, 1806.
My Dear Octavia:
I am quite anxious to hear good news from you. Miranda has been in
Jamaica this fortnight; she has taken a frock and cap along with her
to work for you; I hope she will have it finished when she returns.
Maria Denning is married, and William Duer has returned to New
Orleans; left her with her friends for the winter. Amelia was married
to Mr. Gillespie in the spring; lives at home yet.
Miss Pell was married last week to Robert MacComb; they are making a
prodigious dash. I went to pay the bride’s visit on Friday; they had
an elegant ball and supper in the evening, as it was the last day of
seeing Company; 7 brides-maids and 7 Bride-men, most superb dresses;
the bride’s pearls cost 1,500 dollars; they spend the winter in
Charleston. Adieu! Love to all friends, and tell your husband to write
me immediately after this great event. I am looking forward to a happy
summer spent among you. Best love to Isabella and family, Horatio and
family. How is Robert Southgate junr.? That is as it ought to be.
Pappa is pleased I dare say.
Yours ever,
ELIZA S. BOWNE.
My Dear Mother:
I find it quite in vain to wait for a letter from Miranda, and she has
left me to chance and uncertainty to know whether she has ever arrived
at Providence, but luckily, from constant enquiries, I have learnt she
did arrive safe, and from some other accidental information, that she
was to leave Boston last Thursday for home, with Judge Thatcher. I
presume by this she is with you. As the Spring opens I begin to look
forward to my Eastern visit. Octavia’s boy is as beautiful as a
cherub, I hear.
Saturday, 18th.
Miranda:
Mrs. Derby has returned from Philadelphia, and intends leaving here
for Boston on Tuesday. She spent a long sociable day with me yesterday
and I found it quite a treat; I have seen so little of her but in
mix’t parties that it hardly seems like a visit. She is almost worn
out with dissipation, and I greatly fear her constitution has suffered
an injury from this kind of life it will never recover. She has
absolutely refused all invitations since her return, and means to rest
for a few days while she remains here; she takes one of our _belles_
on to Boston with her,—Miss Fairlie;[91] Miranda knows her. Martha had
a letter from Mrs. Sumner yesterday, where she mentions Miranda
leaving there for home the Sunday before with Mr. and Mrs. Kinsman; I
am really hurt at her unaccountable silence. I promised to tell her
all the news and account of all the parties after she left me, but I
was quite provoked at her not writing. Tell her, however, that there
seems no end to the gaiety this Spring; it does not abate as yet at
all. The day after she left me I paid the bride’s visit to young Mrs.
Murray; there was a prodigious crowd, a hundred and fifty at least,
and many never sat down at all. Madame Moreau[92] wore a long black
velvet dress with Pearl ornaments, looking elegantly. The next day I
dined at Uncle Rufus King’s with company; on Tuesday following, went
to a ball at Mrs. Stevens’;[93] next day, a ball at Miss Murray’s,
very pleasant; they very much regretted her not being here; she was
intended to be one of the Bridesmaids; and the day after the last
Assembly, as you may suppose, was completely tired dancing three
nights in succession. Last Friday I was at a ball at the Watts’s, and
the week before at Miss Lyde’s[94] to a ball, and Mrs. Turnbull’s to a
monstrous tea-party. Yesterday at Mrs. Morris’. On Monday next Aunt
King has a very large party. On Tuesday I go to Mrs. Stoughton’s, on
Thursday to Mrs. Hopkins’, and on Friday dine at Mrs. Bogert’s, and
this evening to Mrs. Henderson’s to a _ball_. I think it will be one
of the most elegant we have had this winter. I wish Miranda was
here,—so much for Miranda. Adieu! I have promised to go shopping with
Mrs. Derby this morning and ’tis growing late. I look forward with
delight to the approaching summer spent amidst all my family.
Give my affectionate regard to all.
Ever yours, E. S. BOWNE.
New York, Dec. 1, 1807.
You won’t write a line I find without a punctual answer, letter for
letter. Could not you make any allowance for domestic engagements,
etc., etc., and write me at present two for one, or were you afraid of
the precedent; I might claim as a right hereafter what I owed merely
to your indulgence. I have anxiously wished to hear again from little
William Brown, for, notwithstanding your flattering accounts of his
returning health, I felt so fully persuaded he would never recover
that I could not but think he would relapse again. How happy I shall
be to hear that my fears are groundless! If you have not written again
before this reaches you, lose no time but write at once. I do not
write to Octavia till I know whether she is in Boston or Portland. You
must make it a rule, Miranda, to write me once a fortnight whether I
answer or not. Charles King will tell you all the news of the
fashionable world. I have been in no parties yet. The Theatre is quite
the rage. I have been several times,—you have no idea how much it is
improved, entirely altered,—looks light and gay,—a perfect contrast to
its former appearance. Cooper draws crowded houses every night—I have
been much delighted. Mr. Wolsey Rogers’ approaching nuptials seem
anticipated as the opening of the winter campaign; of course the event
is much talked of, not a mantua-maker in the city but will tell you
some particulars of the bride’s wardrobe,—length of her train, etc.,
etc.;—a fine lady here, as Mustapha says, is estimated by the length
of her tail. If it was not for using a most homely proverb, I would
say “Every dog has his day.” Here was our friend John Murray and his
bride last winter, making all ring; this winter quietly settled in
Nassau St., just what I call comfortable, (you have not seen this new
play about _comfortable_.) Poor Sterlitz, who has no way to discover
his taste or judgment but by finding fault with everything, seems
quite in a _fuze_ (is there such a word?) that Mr. Murray prefers his
own comfort to dashing in high style. I suppose, Mrs. B. begins to
feel all the palpitations and trepidations of a doating anxious mother
in introducing her favorite daughter to the world. The next winter is
the all-important era for the exhibition. Miss A., in my opinion, will
make a little coquette—the bud seems expanding even now,—that extreme
simplicity, which her mother encouraged by always talking of it before
her, as if she was too young to understand, is now changing for an
affectation of simplicity. I hope she will correct it; time will
convince her that simplicity is only charming in inexperienced youth,
or rather the kind of simplicity which she possesses. There _is_ a
simplicity which gives a softness, a _tone_ (as a painter would say)
to the whole character, but it springs uncontaminated from the
guileless purity of the mind; all affectation of this serves but as a
tattered veil thro’ which you constantly penetrate to the original
deformity—Where have I rambled? Poor Mrs. Greene is dangerously ill,
her friends have little hope of her recovery. On Saturday she was not
expected to live the day,—bled several quarts at the lungs; she is a
favorite with all who know her, a most valuable woman. On
business:—Mamma told me something about getting muslin for Arixene—a
frock to work, but I have forgotten whether she afterwards told me to
get it or not. I can get very pretty for 2 dollars or 2 1–2; let me
know. Tell Octavia I received the little hat which Mr. Browne bo’t for
me in Boston, and shall send the little _tub_ and the rest of the
money, as soon as I know she is in Boston. Fashions:—Ladies wear
fawn-colored coats and bonnets of the same trimmed with velvet
trimming, same color with lappets, cape and inner waistcoat. If I
could find an opportunity I should send you a bonnet and Mamma a cap.
Adieu,—tell Arixene to write to me. James King writes to Charles King
he liked Arixene best of all the Cousins.
To Miss Miranda Southgate.
New York, Dec. 13, 1807.
I have been waiting some time to hear you were in Boston, but as I
have not heard from any of the family for some weeks I shall write you
and direct to Portland. I am rejoiced to hear that little William
continues to recover fast, for Mrs. Derby writes me still later than
Miranda that he is almost recovered. How happy you must feel! None but
those who have suffered the anxiety can conceive the happiness of such
a change. I don’t hear half often enough from you. Miranda writes but
seldom. Charles King told me last evening, in his last letter from her
she says she is going to spend part of the winter in Boston with
you,—from that I conclude you intend going to housekeeping before
Spring. I have been making a plan for you to make me a visit next
Spring. I think there can be no objection to it; your husband can make
arrangements to leave Boston for a month or a few weeks, I am sure.
The accommodations in the stage to Providence are so good, you can go
in half a day—take passage in a Packet and be in New York in three
days with ease. You can either bring William with you, which I should
wish you to, or leave him if you prefer it. Indeed I can see no
objection to the plan. Your friends in New York have made particular
enquiries respecting you. Mary Murray says you have quite given her
up, that she has not received a line from you for some time—I don’t
remember how long. I believe I told you Mrs. Ogden had lost her
youngest child, about 5 months old. Harriet Beam, whom I believe you
knew, died last week,—melancholy, so young. Mrs. Derby writes me her
Father is still far from strong and firm, tho’ much better; very
probable his constitution will never entirely recover this shock. I am
much obliged to Mr. Browne for purchasing the little hat for Walter.
It was not the kind I meant, however,—those here are worn only by
girls, square crowns altogether for boys. Give my best love to Horatio
and Nabby, Isabella and husband, Arixene—I want to send her a pattern
to work a frock in; I have a very pretty one, with but little work on.
Adieu; write me very particularly about William.